


midnight city lights

by seasaltgasoline



Series: these hands are meant to hold [3]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Clubbing, F/M, Long-Distance Relationship, Reader-Insert, Reunion Sex, Seoul, Smoking, basically Y/N goes to Seoul, meeting the friends, she and Chris have a Conversation about their relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27723952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasaltgasoline/pseuds/seasaltgasoline
Summary: Melbourne was where things really began, between you and Chris, but Seoul is the start of something new.(set ten months afteras the river flows)
Relationships: Bang Chan/Reader
Series: these hands are meant to hold [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018063
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	midnight city lights

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third part of [these hands are meant to hold](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018063) \- you probably would want to read [on the edge of sunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27401068) and [as the river flows](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27603538) first, because context  
> Unlike Sydney and Melbourne, I have never set foot in Seoul. Everything about the city you see in this fic was gleaned from Google, and even then I did the bare minimum. All factual inaccuracies are the result of my laziness.  
> Much love to my Ellie for being my beta <3  
> Playlist: MARINA’s ‘Love + Fear’ album

***

Seoul's a nice city.

That's the first thing that comes to mind, sitting on the train from Incheon Airport into Seoul proper, watching the landscape change and the buildings climb like spires in the sky, and it’s a sentiment that stays with you in your taxi ride from the station to Hongdae, looking out the window at the city lit up neon at night.

You thank the driver when he drops you off - you’ve been trying to pick up Korean, armed with variety shows and Duolingo, and you’re about as effective as a kindergartener at this point - and you arrive to see people slowly spilling out of the bar.

You lean against one of the street bollards, outside the bar, and you light a cigarette, duffel bag at your feet and haversack slung over one shoulder. You’re late enough that it isn’t worth trying to get into the bar, and so you settle instead for a smoke while you wait, trying to parse the signs around you in a bid to pass the time. 

You’re pretty sure the place next to the bar sells bibimbap. 

You’ve just finished your second cigarette, and are contemplating a third, when the door of the bar opens again and a gaggle of people emerge. There are three young men at the centre of the group, surrounded by a mix of pretty girls and dudebros, accepting pats on the back and handshakes. 

You figure you’ll wait for the crowd to disperse a bit before you approach, but one of the trio turns and looks directly at you. 

A grin breaks out on Han’s face, and beside him, Changbin’s head whips up.

“Noona!” Changbin exclaims, loud enough for you to hear, and then Han smacks the arm of the person standing on his other side so hard that you almost wince in sympathy. 

Chris hisses in pain, turns, and meets your gaze.

What happens next is like something out of those shitty romcoms Xinling made you watch with her in college, because he moves forward, and you stride across the pavement, all but flinging yourself at him. 

He catches you, because of course he does, and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a deep embrace. Your hands come up to cling to his shoulders, and you inhale the familiar scent - of his cologne, of his sweat, of him. 

It’s been a long six months.

“You made it,” he murmurs into your hair, and you smile, pulling back to look at him, drinking in his handsome features.

He dyed his hair back to black, cropped it short. You’d seen it over Skype, but it looks even better in real life, the contrast with his pale skin making him seem almost ethereal, even though his bangs are plastered to his forehead with sweat and his eyeliner is smudged. 

“Of course,” you tell him, and his grin is brilliant.

You tip your head up, twisting your fingers into his shirt, and he kisses you, long and slow and deep.

Both of you ignore the whooping and wolf-whistling going on in the background.

***

Seoul’s a different city, but it’s still nice to squeeze into a booth in a small restaurant with 3RACHA, listening to their chatter. The food’s different - tteokbokki and kimbap, instead of kebabs and burgers - but the vibes are the same, Han talking loudly and Changbin chiming in, the two of them kicking each other under the table.

Your duffel is shoved on a vacant chair, together with their gear. Chris has an arm around you, one hand curled around your waist as he eats with the other, and you lean into him, content to nibble on your kimbap with your head on his shoulder.

“Noona,” Changbin starts, while Han’s cheeks are stuffed with rice cake, “how have you been? You look tired.”

You smile, sitting up a little straighter. 

“I’m alright - it was a long flight, but mostly it's been a long few weeks, wrapping things up at work.”

“You just finished a contract thing, right?” Han asks, and you nod.

“They asked me about switching to full-time, but I told them I’d talk to them after this trip,” you say. 

Chris pecks you on the cheek.

“See, I knew you’d do well,” he says, smiling, and you laugh.

“It’s not like it’s hard.”

“Y/N,” Han interrupts, “you’re a lawyer, that’s some dopeass shit.”

"I'm a legal consultant, Hannie," you correct lightly, "different things."

"Fine, you _were_ a lawyer," Han says, as if those two miserable years of your life are all that impressive, "and you still look amazing. Seungmin looks like he's dying and it's only his second year of college."

You laugh.

You know Han and Changbin, and you'd met Hyunjin in Melbourne, but the rest of Chris' friends you'd gotten to know via video call at various points over the last six months of your long-distance relationship. As far as you can tell, they're a fun bunch, a little silly, as most college-aged boys are, but their hearts are in the right places.

Seungmin had made an impression, because even though he'd met you on Skype at like, 2AM Seoul time, he had looked so put together. He'd been exceedingly polite, spoke in perfect English, and then had pulled you into an intense conversation about the state of drug laws where you were from, because he was working on an essay for a comparative law class.

It had been really funny to see Chris' eyes slowly glaze over, the longer the discussion went on.

"What are your plans while you're here? Anything you wanna see?" Han presses, skewering a fishcake, and you shrug.

"I hear the view from the N Seoul Tower is nice, but other than that I didn't really do much research," you admit, and Changbin makes the cutest noise.

"You came here for Chan-hyung, didn't you," he coos, and you smile.

"You caught me," you say, grinning. Chris laughs, and you press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Changbin sighs, propping his head up on one hand.

"You guys are so romantic," he remarks, “it’s been like, almost ten months since you guys got together right?”

Han snorts.

"Just do us a favour and wear an actual shirt tomorrow, hyung," he says, "the whole damn world doesn't need to know you got lucky."

Chris flushes, and you laugh so hard you nearly knock over your soda.

***

The night is crisp, and reminds you a bit of when you'd first met Chris in Sydney, nearly a year ago. It's September, and the heat of summer is fading into autumn, heralding a new season, making for a pleasant walk back to his building.

"It's not much," Chris says, almost shy when he lets you into his apartment. He flicks on the light and the A/C, and you take it in, toeing your sneakers off. 

It’s a small studio - fridge against the wall on one side, a small kitchenette and a door that presumably leads to the bathroom beside it, the other side of the room mostly occupied by the bed. There’s a tiny wardrobe behind the bed, and the rest of the space appears to be taken up by a desk, covered in music production equipment.

He has a window, behind his monitor, and while the place is small, it’s more than functional. 

“It’s pretty nice,” you tell him, patting his cheek, “and it’s in a good location, I’ve lived in worse.”

He smiles, setting your duffel down before he sits down on the bed to unlace his boots.

You drape yourself over his shoulders, your head resting on his broad back, and you hear the thump of his boots on the floor. He leans back, into you, and you sit down properly on the bed, toying with his necklace, his head tucked into the crook of your shoulder. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs, and you smile, brushing an absent kiss to his cheek. 

“I missed you too,” you reply, and he sits up, turning to look at you.

“Are you tired?” he asks.

“I’m alright,” you say, crawling into his lap, and he kisses you.

It’s a deep kiss, slow and filled with a kind of longing, the sweetness of reuniting after parting, and it doesn’t take long for things to get filthy, the hardness of him against your thigh, your hips grinding down on him, slow. 

His hands go to the hem of your shirt.

“Can I?” he asks, and you nod, letting him pull off your sweater, undoing your bra with one hand, and you return the favour, pushing the jacket off his shoulders and yanking off his t-shirt. 

Getting your pants off is trickier - the mournful noise he makes when you get out of his lap in order to shimmy your jeans and underwear down is adorable - but it’s replaced by a soft sigh when you drop back into his lap completely naked. 

You’re just glad to have him under you again, all pure muscle beneath your fingers, and he tugs you closer to him. His fly’s already undone, and it’s a moment’s work to slip your fingers beneath the elastic of his underwear, to pull his cock out and get your hand around his length, to hear him groan.

“Shit,” he swears, and yeah - this is gonna be a fast one, because six months of sexts and Skype sex absoutely pales in comparison to finally getting your hands on each other, being in the same space, breathing the same air.

“Your fingers, darling,” you tell him, and he dips his hand between your thighs, thumbing at your clit while you leave bruises all over his neck, his collarbones. 

You kiss him, and the soft noise he makes against your lips when he slips a finger into you is something almost reverent.

“Baby,” he murmurs, “you’re so wet for me.”

“More,” you demand, tugging on his hair so that he tips his head back and you can suck another mark into his jaw, and he listens, sliding another finger in, slick-wet and warm. He’s good with his fingers, working you open, and you sigh at the touch, at his teeth on your collarbone leaving his own marks into your skin. 

“Sweetheart,” you ask, brushing his hair out of his face, “ready?” 

He nods, pulling his fingers out, and the pang of arousal in your gut is sharp, when he slips them between his lips and sucks them clean. 

You brace one hand on his shoulder, and use the other to guide his cock into you.

Both of you gasp, when he slides into you, because it’s been a long six months and nothing, nothing compares to something real, to a pretty boy beneath you buried in your warmth, and he grabs your ass, pulling you closer, kissing you deeply. 

“Fuck me,” you murmur, and he’s obedient, and eager, and you’re just as desperate, the two of you chasing pleasure, fingers on skin, messy kisses.

His hand comes down, to rub against your clit, and you curl your fingers into his hair, pulling tight as your hips work at a frantic pace, fucking each other, riding that edge, that wave. 

When it breaks, it’s euphoria.

***

“Hyung,” Han says, sounding pained, “I _told_ you to wear an actual shirt.”

“This is an actual shirt!” Chris protests.

In his defense, he does actually have a t-shirt on, as opposed to the muscle tees he tends to favour. It’s just that, well, reunion sex tends to involve multiple rounds of sex, and you’d left more bruises on him than his Van Halen shirt could ever hope to hide, the marks of your hunger high on his jaw.

Han is oddly prudish about this, but you understand that he looks up to Chris and sees him as an older brother - you suppose it _is_ kinda weird to be confronted with evidence that your sibling figure is totally getting some. 

Changbin just sighs, long and loud, and from where he’s tucked up by the recording console, Jeongin giggles nervously.

“You’ve scarred the baby,” Han says, and Jeongin scoffs before turning to smile at you, a sweet grin that shows off the cutest pair of dimples. 

“I’m fine, hyung,” he says, standing up to come and shake your hand, “it’s good to meet you in real life, noona.” 

His English is as adorable as he is, and it hits you in the heart the same way small animals do. 

“Likewise, Jeongin,” you reply, and the dimples appear again. 

You’d accompanied Chris to the studio, curious about where, as Han liked to put it, “the magic happened”. The semester is in full swing, as far as you can tell, but 3RACHA somehow all have Wednesdays off from class, which is why it has been dubbed ‘studio day’. 

Chris had felt guilty about wanting to go in, while you were in town, but apparently they were working on a song for Jeongin’s recital that needed some fine-tuning, and ‘studio day’ was necessary to put that together.

It’s not ideal, but it's also no big deal, in your opinion - you both have your own lives, and you’re trying to make this relationship work within those confines, within all your responsibilities and obligations, and compromise, as you’ve both learned over the last six months, is a necessity. 

There’s the sound of a scuffle, and you turn to see where Chris appears to have gotten Han into a headlock. You can’t really figure out what they’re saying, but you can guess, given that you recognise several of the words as Korean swears.

Changbin has his hands over his face.

“You are worse than the children I work with,” Jeongin says, tapping his foot impatiently, “Chan-hyung, just put on your hoodie, and Hannie-hyung, you're one to talk, I’ve seen how you look after a night with one of your girlfriends. Let’s get to work, I have class in two hours.”

“You are the meanest maknae,” Han whines, pouting, and Jeongin rolls his eyes.

You take that as your cue to leave, snagging Chris by the elbow to kiss him, deeply, ignoring the noise the other three people in the room make at the gesture. 

“I’ll see you later for dinner,” you tell him, and the curve of his smile is tender and sweet.

“See you,” he murmurs, and you grin.

***

You came to Seoul without any real plan, which is about par for the course for a person who flew to Perth with a single suitcase, a working holiday visa, and absolutely zero idea of what she was going to do for twelve months in Australia.

But you're good at wandering, at showing up somewhere and going with the flow, and that's what you do. 

Besides, you do actually have something scheduled while Chris is occupied at the studio, and that something - or someone, rather - flings herself at you at Gangnam Station.

“Y/N!” Jiwoo cries out, throwing her arms around your neck, and you laugh, returning the hug.

“Jiwoo,” you say, smiling, “it’s been a while.”

You’d met her in Sydney, the two of you sharing a room at the hostel, and somehow your friendship had lasted even beyond Australia, fuelled by Instagram stories and text messages and YouTube videos sent to each other at the oddest hours. You know, as a result, that she moved to Seoul from Busan for university, that she dyed her hair an auburn brown, and that she lives in an apartment with two other girls.

“You look great,” she tells you, earnest, and you smile.

“You too - let’s go eat, I’m starving.” 

She loops arms with you, and you update each other on your lives as she guides you to the restaurant. 

“This is one of my favourite places,” she tells you, excitedly, and you leave the ordering to her. 

The table is soon filled with small side dishes, a pot of kimchi stew, white rice, and a giant Korean pancake.

"Enjoy!" Jiwoo chirps, and you smile, taking a piece of pancake.

The thing that drew you to Jiwoo back in Sydney was her easy cheerfulness, the way she seemed so welcoming even though you were a total stranger, and as a result it's easy to talk about your lives after not seeing each other in almost a year.

She hasn't quite decided on her major yet, although she's leaning towards child psychology, and she tells you about the boy she's seeing, someone she met at the school's summer festival. In turn, you fill her in on the last six months of your life, mostly updates about your contract gig and the state of your plants.

"How's Chris?" Jiwoo asks, "I can't imagine doing long-distance, you guys totally have my respect."

"He's doing well, busy as hell but that's normal," you answer, between slurps of kimchi stew, "and it's not easy, but we make it work."

It's the truth. It's not as if the past six months have been all longing-filled Skype calls and sappy messages. You and Chris are both fiercely independent people, used to doing things on your own, and you're both workaholics, guilty of submerging yourselves in work for hours on end, surfacing to a string of increasingly angsty text messages and missed call notifications. 

There's been a fair number of fights, disagreements and misunderstandings made worse by distance and time differences, but both you and Chris agreed, in Melbourne, to _try_. And so far, despite the challenges, it's been worth it - his sleepy smiles when you call him before going in to the office, how he plays you snippets of tracks he's working on over the phone, the long conversations that go on for hours, the two of you talking until someone falls asleep.

It's been worth it, to make the effort, to be able to come to Seoul and bask in this shared mutual affection.

Jiwoo picks at her slice of pancake.

"This might be prying," she says, "but what are your plans for the long-term?"

You swallow your bite of rice.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about today, actually - I need some perspective from someone who's relatively new to Seoul."

"Oh?" Jiwoo says, leaning forward in her seat, "hit me."

***

You go with the flow when you're in Seoul, and it's great. It's been a while since you've been able to lose yourself in a new city, and the itch to run is a constant under your skin, made worse when you're stuck at a desk reviewing contracts and other paperwork.

Chris has classes, so while he’s off being a student you take it upon yourself to explore, visiting museums and wandering through the streets, from residential neighborhoods to the touristy shopping districts. Jiwoo tells you to check out the Dongdaemun Design Plaza, which is something like an art and design hub in the city - it’s a little avant garde, but it’s still exciting. 

You also check off some of the cultural stuff - you and Chris visit the old palace, after his Friday morning class - and of course, you make time to try your hand at the roulettes and slot machines, eating your way through the city while you’re at it. 

Chris takes you to a local market for dinner one evening, and stuffs you full of food, from fish-shaped buns filled with red bean to blood sausages dipped in a spicy sauce.

“You’re pretty adventurous,” he tells you, watching you wolf down some grilled intestines at lunch on Sunday, the two of you squeezed at a small table in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant he frequents, and you shrug.

“I’ve travelled a lot,” you say, taking a sip of soda, “sometimes the best-tasting stuff looks the weirdest, so I’m willing to try anything twice.” 

"Why twice?"

"Just in case the first was a bad apple."

"Makes sense."

You pick up a piece of gopchang, and lift it towards Chris, who smiles and opens his mouth to accept it like a baby bird.

When you're done eating, you pay for the meal, and the old lady behind the counter says something to Chris that has him barking out a laugh before he replies. You know enough to pick out the words ‘pretty’ and ‘girlfriend’, but that’s all you can figure out. 

“What did she say to you?” you ask, as Chris slips his arm around your shoulders.

“She asked how I expected to keep a girlfriend so pretty if I wasn’t paying for food,” he tells you, wryly, and you snort.

“I earn more, it’s no big deal,” you say absently, trying to put your change back into your wallet without spilling your coins all over the floor, “besides, I ate most of it.”

You notice that he tenses, almost imperceptibly, but you don't get to ask him about it because after you shove your wallet back into your bag, he takes your hand, squeezing it. 

“Let’s go for a walk along Cheonggyecheon,” he suggests.

You smile at how your fingers fit perfectly together. 

“Let’s go.”

***

Dinner that night is at a food truck spot somewhere near the Han River, a potluck-picnic of sorts with Chris’ friends that’s doubling up as a birthday celebration for everyone born in September. It’s hard enough to get them all in the same place, and when they’d been told that you were coming to town, the ‘Stray Kids’ had apparently clamoured to be able to finally meet you in person, so you understand it’s a two birds, one stone type of situation. 

Plus, one of Chris’ friends from high school has gone into the food truck business, and he’s keen to go and support the endeavour. 

There’s quite a large number of food trucks gathered by the bridge, and the whole place is a riot of light and colour and noise, the smell of food from a dozen different places thick in the air. You and Chris hold hands as you navigate the crowds, in search of his friend’s enterprise.

It turns out that it finds you first.

“Sawadeekap!” a voice yells, strident above the bustle of the crowd, “we got bap in a cup!”

Chris goes in the direction of the voice, towards a bright yellow truck, where a young man is leaning out of the service window, waving a mid-sized paper cup in the air as he shouts.

“Bambam!” Chris yells, and the man whips around, grinning. 

“Christopher Bang! Finally crawled out of your cave, I see,” he says, as the two of you approach.

His smile gets broader when he sees you, eyes landing on your joined hands.

“You must be the famous Y/N.”

“That’s me,” you say, returning his smile.

“I’m Bambam, Chris and I met in high school and became friends because we were both foreigners who knew fuck all about Korea,” he explains, setting down the cup he’d been brandishing about.

“Bam’s from Thailand,” Chris explains, “he moved here because of his dad’s job.” 

“And I haven’t left since!” Bambam chirps, “now are you here to actually buy my food, man?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chris says, stepping back to look at the menu, “what’s this about bap in a cup?”

Apparently it’s something new Bambam and his business partners are trying - putting a Thai twist on the typical Korean cup-bap, with the options being pineapple rice or basil pork. There’s also a whole bunch of other dishes on the menu, from spicy Szechuan chicken wings to cheese-filled dumplings, and it’s clear that their entire concept is Asian fusion.

“Give me one of each cup-bap and a platter of pork dumplings,” Chris says, handing over the cash, and Bambam grins. 

“Coming right up!”

It isn’t long before the food is ready, and when Bambam passes Chris the food, there’s an extra packet in the bag. 

“Some butterfly fritters on the house,” Bambam says, and Chris scowls.

“Bam, there’s no need,” he says, and Bambam clicks his tongue.

“I’ve known you almost ten years, just take it!”

“Dude, this is inventory!”

“You’re my friend!”

“You’re running a business!”

You take out 10,000 won from your wallet, and stuff it into the tip jar, effectively putting a stop to the argument.

Chris blinks, and Bambam cocks his head to one side. 

He looks at you.

“I like you, Y/N-noona,” he says with a wink, and you smile. 

“That’s good to know. Thanks Bambam,” you say, and you reach for Chris’ hand again, “let’s go.”

“Drinks soon!” Bambam calls, as the two of you take your leave, and Chris responds with a wave. The two of you head back to the river, where Jeongin has claimed a nice spot along the water, armed with picnic blankets and several bottles of soju. The plan had been to do things potluck-style: pick up a portion of food to share, and show up ready to eat.

Changbin and Han are already lying on the picnic blanket, along with Jeongin. Hyunjin is there as well - gone is the fluffy dark hair he had in Melbourne, now replaced with long, bleached-blonde locks tied up into a ponytail - sitting next to a boy you recognise as Felix.

“Y/N,” he greets, and you’re still not over how his deep voice is a total mismatch with his elfin features, “it’s good to finally meet you in the flesh.”

“Same here,” you say, and you and Chris add your contributions to the plethora of food already on that mat. 

A dark-haired youth with a cat-like smirk shows up next - Minho, your memory supplies - and when he sees you he cocks his head to one side. 

“Nice to meet you,” he says, politely, followed by, “you’re even prettier in real life than on Skype.”

“ _Hyung_ ,” Han whines, smacking him on the shin, "can you not?"

Chris shakes his head, although he’s smiling, and you laugh, as you shake Minho’s hand.

Seungmin is the last to arrive, balancing a pizza in one hand.

“Noona, it’s a pleasure,” he says, “thank you for helping me with my essay last semester.”

“Anytime,” you tell him, and he’s another one who has a very sweet smile.

There’s _a lot_ of food spread out on the picnic mat. Aside from pizza and the food you got from Bambam, there’s a mess of potato croquettes, some tacos, a mixed assortment of Korean-style jeon, fried chicken, a giant fruit salad, and an entire chocolate cake, three candles stuck in the middle.

Chris lights the candles, and everyone wishes Han, Felix, and Seungmin a happy birthday, singing in a mangled mess of Korean and English. 

“Let’s eat!” Hyunjin yells, and all of you dig in. 

It’s a bit hard to keep up with the conversation, but you do your best. The boys try to accommodate you, speaking in English as much as possible, but the more they eat and talk - and the more soju they drink - the more the lines between languages blur, Korean and English melding together. 

You don’t mind it - it’s nice that they try to include you, but you’re an outsider to the friend group, and you’re happy to let them talk around you, as you lean against Chris and dissect your chicken drumstick.

Seungmin turns to you, and asks about your law school experience, a conversation that, aided by soju, somehow descends into a discussion on legal theory. 

Across the mat, Minho sighs dramatically.

“Noona, where on earth did Chan-hyung find you? We’ve never found someone smarter than Seungminnie before,” he says, and there’s laughter all around at that statement. 

“Outside a bar in Sydney,” you answer promptly, and Chris chuckles, ducking his head to press a kiss to your cheek. 

Felix smiles at the two of you. 

“You got lucky, hyung,” he jokes.

You flap your hand in his direction dismissively, and Chris laughs.

***

Wednesday night finds you at a club near the university, because, on top of going to school and performing and producing with 3RACHA, Chris also DJs on occasion to earn extra cash. 

Seoul is also apparently a smaller city than you’d anticipated, because it turns out that the boy Jiwoo’s seeing is friends with Jeongin. That’s how you wind up among a whole gaggle of people in a smoky room, listening to whatever Chris has cooked up at the console, all bright lights and throbbing bass. 

Not everyone’s at the club - Seungmin had begged off, citing an early lecture, and Hyunjin had gotten onto a plane hours after the picnic by the Han River, off to Japan for another modelling gig. Minho, too, is tied up with rehearsals, so it’s just you, Han, Changbin, Jeongin and Felix, along with Jiwoo, her almost-boyfriend, and a few of their friends from school. 

You’ve eeled through the crowd with a whiskey soda in hand, and you fully intend on sitting at one of the tables and sipping it as a way to pass the time.

Jiwoo thwarts your plans.

“You have to dance, Y/N,” she says, insistent, “you can’t just sit here, _come on_.”

“I’m too old for this,” you tell her, and she rolls her eyes. 

“You’re twenty-six, not dead! Y/N, _please_ ,” she whines, drawing out the syllables, clearly fuelled by the shots she’d downed at the start of the night, and you sigh, finishing up your drink and setting it on the table with a clink.

“Fine,” you say, and she beams, dragging you into the crowd by the hand. 

You’ve been to dozens of different clubs, over the years and around the world, and after a while they all blend together - strong thumping bass, flashing lights, and when the beat drops the crowd goes wild. Chris is actually a pretty good DJ, and it’s oddly nice, that nearly a year on, he still manages to catch you by surprise. 

You dance with Jiwoo and the others for a while, but eventually you beg off for some fresh air and a smoke. 

“I’ll go with you,” Felix offers, and you look at him questioningly as the two of you duck out of the building and into the alley next to it, where there are a few other smokers having a puff. 

“Do you smoke?” you ask, lighting up your cigarette, and he shakes his head.

“No,” he says, “but you shouldn’t be alone, it’s not very safe.”

“Thank you, but I can handle myself, really,” you tell him, and the kid winces.

“Yeah, but Chan-hyung would kill us if anything happened, and I really like being alive.”

You snort, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. 

“Well, be sure to stay upwind then,” you advise, and he smiles at you. He makes light conversation, the two of you chatting about Australia while you smoke, but then you’re interrupted.

“Hey, you got a light?” someone asks, and you turn to look at them. It’s a young man, probably a student at the university, bleached hair gelled messily atop his head. He’s got a cigarette in hand, and is smiling at you in a way that makes your hackles rise.

Next to you, Felix stiffens.

“Yeah, sure,” you say, tossing your lighter at him, and he takes it, lighting up. 

He doesn’t give it back, instead surveying you in a way that sets you on edge.

“You’re Bang’s girl,” he remarks, without any preamble, and you arch an eyebrow. 

“And who’s asking?”

“Name’s Jin,” he says, easily, “y’know, the whole school was abuzz when Mr Popular Bang Chan took a leave of absence to go to Australia. Imagine our surprise when he came back and we discovered he’d gotten himself a pretty foreign girlfriend while he was there.” 

He looks at you.

“Of course, all the girls were so upset that the most eligible bachelor on campus was taken, but then we found out that not only were you older, you were a hotshot lawyer of some sort,” Jin continues, “so why on earth would you go for a random university student from Seoul?” 

You take a drag of your cigarette. 

“Are you trying to go somewhere with this conversation?” you ask, voice icy, and Jin shrugs cavalierly.

“I’m just saying, sweetness,” and he steps closer - most people would take a step back, but you hold your ground, glaring at him, “that once you get bored of this college boytoy, there’s plenty more you can take for a ride.” 

He slips the lighter back into your hand.

“Thanks for the light,” he says, walking off.

You stare at his retreating back, at the lighter you're holding, and you pitch it into the nearest dustbin, relishing in the loud clatter it makes. 

“Y/N,” Felix starts, “are you alright?”

You’re shaking, you realize, fight or flight instincts triggered, and you put your cigarette to your lips, inhaling sharply, letting the nicotine settle your nerves. 

“I need a new lighter,” you tell him, voice calm, and he blinks at you furiously.

“There’s a convenience store down the street,” Felix offers, and you nod.

“Good.”

***

Things come to a head a few days later. 

Chris has been tense, and when you’d asked he’d told you it was nothing, just stress from school and a creative block. You’d done your best to give him space, but his apartment really is only that big, so you’re cross-legged on the floor, arms propped up on the mattress, scrolling through your phone, and he’s sitting on the bed, reading something for school on his laptop while he smokes. 

You’ve got about four days left in Seoul, before you have to go back confront the realities of adulthood, and you’re looking up good restaurants in the city because - well, it’d be really nice, to take Chris out for a proper dinner, to have him unwind a little.

It’s not like you have any issues with hole-in-the-wall joints and street food, but a bit of posh is fun, once in a while, and you’re on holiday - there’s no better time to be a little indulgent. 

“We should go eat somewhere nice on Sunday,” you tell him, tucking yourself against his thigh, “I’d like to take you out for dinner, because I’ll be missing your birthday, but also because I just want to.”

You’re due to fly out a week and a half before it, which is unfortunate, but you’ve got some job interviews lined up and life, unfortunately, gets in the way of a lot of things. 

Chris tenses, and sets aside his laptop, stubbing out his cigarette.

“You don’t have to,” he says, quietly, and you sit back, so that you can look at him.

“Why not?”

“Well, won’t it be expensive?” 

“I’ll pay,” you say, because it’s obvious to you, and Chris’ shoulders go up to his ears, the way they do when he’s upset. 

“Darling,” you say, softly, “what’s wrong?” 

“You don’t have to keep paying for shit and indulging me or pitying me or whatever, you know?” Chris says, and your eyes widen in shock.

“Chris, what the hell are you saying?” you ask, “I’m your girlfriend, of course I want to indulge you, but what am I doing that’s pitying?”

He bites his lip, looking at you.

“Felix told me about what happened at the club, with Jin,” he says, raking his fingers through his hair, and “you know, he’s an asshole, but he wasn’t wrong.”

He inhales sharply. 

“I’m not good enough for you,” he says, a confession of the worst kind, “and you’re going to leave for someone better, once you realise that.”

You throw your hands up into the air, getting up so that you can pace in the tiny space between his bed and kitchenette. 

You’ve known, at an intellectual level, that Chris has a bit of an inferiority complex. He’s always had some shades of it, according to Han and Changbin and his mother, across various aspects of his life. It’s manifested in different ways - in his workaholism, the way he’s constantly chasing perfection in school, at work, with his music, in how he pushes himself so hard, late nights fuelled by caffeine and nicotine.

You hadn’t realised that his self-doubt extended to your relationship as well.

“I _chose_ to date you,” you tell him, fiercely, and God, you cannot believe that this is happening, right now.

He presses his lips together.

“That’s now,” he says, “God, Y/N, look - you’re older than me, and you’re making so much more money than I am, than I probably will. You’re gorgeous and sweet and you’ve seen so much of the world, I feel like I’m just this dumb kid who can’t keep up with you.”

Fucking hell, you’re going to cry, if he doesn’t start first.

“You idiot,” you say, your voice shaky, “if I felt that way, would I be thinking about moving to Seoul for you?” 

Chris looks at you, his mouth open, and _fuck,_ you just said that out loud, didn’t you. 

“What?” he chokes out, and you fling yourself onto his bed, covering your face with your hands.

“I was going to tell you this at dinner on Sunday,” you say, voice muffled, and tentatively he reaches out, pulling one of your hands away from your face, pressing a soft kiss to your fingers. 

You let him.

“The company I was working at offered me a full-time position, and I've got some other interviews lined up,” you mutter, “but I got another offer, at this firm that’s expanding into East Asia. They want to put someone in the area to liaise, and make sure everything’s kosher on all sides - the headquarters will be in Seoul.”

You turn your head, to look at Chris.

“If I take the job, I’ll be based here for at least two years,” you say, and you see the moment the implications of what you’ve just said hit him.

“You’d do that?” he asks, softly, “for me?”

You sigh, pushing yourself up so that you can lean against him, tucking yourself against the lean lines of his body.

“International exposure is good for my career, yeah, but aside from that, you’re important to me, Chris,” you say, “and you’re not the only one who feels insecure about things.”

Unsaid is the fact that a lot of Chris’ concerns - your two-year age gap, the anxieties about how you’re both at different life stages, the fear of being not enough - well, they go both ways. 

“Besides,” you continue, “remember what you told me in Gerroa?”

_You don’t know what you’re running from, but maybe you need to think about what you’re running to._

His eyes are wide.

“I still don’t know what I’m running from, but I’m making a bet on what I’m running to,” you murmur, “and that bet’s on you.”

He looks at you, and when he leans forward you meet him halfway, the kiss soft and tender. 

“I love you,” he admits, and it’s the first time he’s said it aloud, the first time it’s been made explicit, not just implied through heart-shaped emojis in text messages and layered between words, and you smile.

“I love you too,” you tell him, and you kiss him again. 

***

You finally get to go up to N Seoul Tower on Sunday night, because it turns out there's a revolving restaurant up there and you’re a sucker for that shit. It’s a French-style place, and the food’s decent, but what you’re really after is the view, which is absolutely gorgeous. 

According to Jiwoo, the tower is one of the most romantic spots in Seoul, and it certainly feels that way when you and Chris walk around after dinner, gazing out at the buildings all lit up with neon and chrome, city lights sparkling in the night. There are many other couples, out and about, but it still retains an air of romance. 

It makes you feel, well, young again, the way you felt at eighteen the very first time you ran away to a foreign land by yourself, when you gazed out at Taipei from the top of the 101 building and felt like you could do anything.

This time around it feels even better, because you’ve got a pretty boy by your side, the two of you holding hands and basking in each other’s company.

Chris pauses, in front of the love locks that line the bridge. 

“Do you wanna do one of these?” he asks, almost shy, and you smile. 

Love locks are kinda dumb, but he looks so earnest, and well, it’s a harmless thing, isn’t it, to fork over a few thousand won or so for a lock and a Sharpie from the tower gift shop. 

Chris writes your names on the lock, methodically - his handwriting is crisp and neat, whereas you’ve frequently been told that, given the state of your penmanship, medical school might have made more sense - and when he’s done, he shows it off to you proudly.

You kiss him on the cheek, and together you find a spot on the fence. You click it in place, and take a photo of it. 

“Is this going on Instagram?” Chris asks, and you smile.

“Of course.” 

He drops the key off at the designated box, and your fingers tangle together, as you look out at the expanse of Seoul. 

Seoul’s a nice city, and maybe, it could be home.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:  
> Everything I know about Seoul and Korean food I know from TV  
> Bambam is an icon and I love his "bap in a cup" line so much I had to integrate it somehow. Fun fact: Cup-baps are an actual thing in Korea.  
> Does the job Y/N’s been offered actually exist??? No clue, but look, people do all sorts of weird jobs nowadays, let’s just roll with it.  
> Love is a journey, and it’s not easy - sometimes, it gets really challenging. But what’s most important is to talk things out, to listen, and to just try. No one knows how things will end, so you just have to give it your best shot.  
> You can catch me on Instagram [@omaisvt](https://www.instagram.com/omaisvt/), I’m always down to yell about SKZ and SVT. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!!! Comments and kudos are always lovely, and always make my day <3


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